


aflame

by anabel



Series: the golden boys [4]
Category: National Football League RPF
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Sex Pollen, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:33:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28045470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anabel/pseuds/anabel
Summary: The news breaks half-an-hour before kickoff that Pat Mahomes has been sex-pollened.
Relationships: Patrick Mahomes/Aaron Rodgers
Series: the golden boys [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2088150
Comments: 9
Kudos: 32
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	aflame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ohtempora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohtempora/gifts).



**(Monday Night Football, Chiefs at Packers, a rematch of the previous year's Super Bowl.)**

The news breaks half-an-hour before kickoff that Pat Mahomes has been sex-pollened.

Steve Levy won’t put it quite like that – Aaron can imagine him delicately telling America that “Chiefs quarterback Patrick Mahomes has been pulled from tonight’s game following an assault by a fan here at Lambeau” – but everyone knows. There’s been a rash of sex-pollen assaults this year, ever since it was discovered, and until scientists find a cure or a more effective treatment, it’s going to keep happening.

This is the first time it’s hit the NFL, though. Part of Aaron is savagely angry that it was one of _his_ people that went there first. Not only is it shockingly wrong, but it’s also shockingly _stupid_. Did they think the NFL was just going to roll over and force the Chiefs to put their backup quarterback in, without any consequences? Goodell’s already probably getting ready to come on air to announce that the Packers have forfeited the game. The first forfeit in NFL history, without Aaron even getting the _chance_ to take down the vaunted Chiefs.

He’s angry, and he’s letting himself be angry, because the alternative is worse.

Nobody asked him where he was going when he slammed out of the locker room like a thundercloud, but there was only ever one place he was headed. The visitors’ locker room is a sea of chaotic red, players standing around half-dressed and talking a mile a minute, and Aaron is a stranger in a foreign land.

He looks for a veteran, grabs Kelce by the shoulder. “Where’s Pat?” he near-shouts up into Kelce’s face.

Kelce blinks hard at him, obviously confused by the sudden appearance of the opposing quarterback in their locker room. “What?”

Aaron resists the urge to grind his teeth. “Pat. Where is he?”

“Doctors have him,” Kelce says, like he’s stupid.

This is useless. Aaron releases Kelce and whirls on his heel. He knows where the offices and treatment rooms are, Pat will be in one of them. He’ll find him if he has to bust the lock on every door.

A reporter shoves a microphone in his face. “Aaron! Are you here to apologize for the fan?”

“Excuse me,” Aaron says, barely hanging on to politeness. “It’s an emergency.”

He makes it out of the locker room. There are more cameras outside. He doesn’t care.

The third time he slams a door open, he finds Pat. (There are doctors too, and Andy Reid, but they’re irrelevant.)

Pat’s in a chair, and – god – they have one of his arms handcuffed to it. Just for safety’s sake, of course, but it makes Aaron’s blood boil out of his veins. “Pat,” he says, stifled.

Pat’s whole focus snaps to him, his body trying to surge out of his chair. “Aaron,” he says, and fuck, his voice is _wrecked_. He’s biting his lip hard, already showing red. “Aaron, _get out of here_.”

“No,” Aaron says. 

Reid says, “Rodgers, this isn’t helpful.”

One of the doctors is prepping something in his kit. The other says, in that annoying patronizing “bedside calm” voice, “We’re about to give Mr. Mahomes a sedative. If you want to talk to Mr. Reid, he’ll be available shortly.”

“Like hell you are,” Aaron says.

Pat’s wrenching his arm, trying to stop, unable to. “Aaron. I told you. _Aaron._ ”

“Screw them,” Aaron says. “Fuck it all.”

They’ve never actually had this conversation before. Perhaps they should have, back when the first sex pollen assault happened, two months ago. But Pat’s always been tactful, avoiding the subject of Aaron’s iron closet, and Aaron… Aaron never thought it would happen to them. Fuck him, he thought nobody would be this _stupid_.

And now his boyfriend is _handcuffed to a chair_ , going out of his mind with lust, and they’re about to give him a sedative to knock him out so it’ll burn itself out when he’s unconscious and he won’t have a heart attack, and Pat’s _going along with it_ to protect Aaron’s secret, and fuck it _all_ , he doesn’t need to have a conversation to know exactly what’s going to happen now. 

(Turns out there’s nothing like danger to make you realize how much someone matters to you, and how little anything else matters at all.)

“You don’t mean that,” Pat says, his voice so ragged.

Aaron turns to Reid, holds out his hand. “Give me the key.”

Reid’s looking back and forth between the two of them. Fucker’s smart. He’ll figure it out. 

“You don’t have to do this,” Pat says. His voice cracks.

That’s it. Aaron spins around, goes down on one knee next to Pat’s chair. “Don’t tell me what I mean, or what I have to do, or what I want. I know what I want. And that’s you.” He leans in, watches Pat’s pupils dilate even more, lowers his voice. “Don’t make me kiss you in front of Reid to prove it.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Pat says.

Aaron’s back up again, hand out. “Key,” to Reid. “Get the fuck out,” to the doctors. 

Reid hands him the key.

The doctors bustle out. They’re probably incredibly affronted, but Aaron doesn’t give a solitary fuck.

He only has space for one more thought. “Delay the game,” he says to Reid, who’s got one hand on the door handle. “Give us an hour.”

Reid doesn’t turn. “Are either of you going to be in any shape to play in an hour?”

“You know how this goes,” Aaron says. “Once the pollen’s done, it’s done. We’ll be fine.”

“I’m not talking about physically,” Reid says. 

Aaron looks at Pat, feels the panic and the roar in his own body. “It’s gonna be a weird-ass game,” he says. “But we’re not going to let this fucker win.”

“We’ll be fine,” Pat croaks.

“You’re nuts,” Reid says, and smartly leaves just in time to avoid witnessing something he probably doesn’t want to witness.

Aaron unlocks Pat, and is borne to the ground with a force both chemical and emotional.

“I love you,” Pat says, biting his jaw. “I can’t believe… I love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Aaron says, rolling them over, getting a hand down Pat’s pants and watching Pat’s eyes roll back in his head. “We gotta make you come at least twice before I believe a word you say.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Pat says, and then Aaron kisses him, and nobody says anything coherent for a long time.

~*~

Reid gets the game delayed two hours.

In another world, maybe they could’ve played it off. Yes, for Pat to be able to make it on the field tonight he obviously had someone to help him work off the pollen. But no reason the world had to know that it was _Aaron_ ; maybe Pat had a girlfriend, or fuck, they could’ve pulled any number of eager fans from the stands, if Pat wanted.

But that’s out of the window thanks to Aaron’s avenging-angel dash through the visitors’ locker room, caught on media cameras, and Aaron finds – he finds that he’s glad. Glad that if Pat had to get pollened, at least he was there. Glad that the hiding’s over, glad that the closet’s busted for good. Glad that the world knows that Pat is his. 

Tomorrow they’ll deal with the fallout. Tonight they have a game to play.

They meet for the coin toss. 

Pat smiles at him. It’s his normal, non-chemically-enhanced smile. He’s happy, riding the post-pollen bliss. He’ll probably throw for ten touchdowns tonight, fuck Aaron’s life.

Aaron smiles back.

After the coin toss – the Packers will get the ball to start - he shakes hands with each of the Chiefs representatives. Pat’s last, and when he gets to him, Pat uses the handshake to pull him in close.

“I love you,” he says into Aaron’s ear. “Loser buys dinner?”

Aaron watches the man he loves bound off towards the sideline, and can’t stop smiling.

~*~


End file.
